The beach was hot and quiet. I was lying on my back with my book over my head. A book on the Dada art movement under world war one. Fascinating stuff. I was digging a little into the sand with the fingers on my right hand. I found a couple of tiny pebbles and shells. I idly wondered whether I cared to make dinner today or wanted to eat out.

My hand was suddenly pressed into the sand. Someone had stepped on it, and hadn't stepped away. It was rather gentle and did not hurt, though. The bare foot rocked a little back and forth. I decided to pretend I hadn't noticed. The book was not only preventing me from seeing, it also masked the slight smile that came to my face.

"He doesn't move," said a young voice. "Do you think he is dead?"

"Nah," said a different voice. "His toes are moving a little."

"No, I think he is dead," said the first voice. "Watch this." And the wind was knocked from me when something soft and warm and heavy landed on my stomach. I moaned and took the book off my face. I tried to see in the harsh sunlight and reached into my bag for my sunglasses.

A blonde face grinned into mine from inches away. "Oh, you're alive. Hi, Old Fart, how're you doing?"

"Old Fart??"

"Yeah, my mom calls you that. She says you were here also last year."

"Oh, how nice. Give her my warmest regards." I started to look for my place in the book.

"No, really she likes you. She says you're a photographer. And she only called you Old Fart once."

"How delightful. She must be a wonderful lady."

"Lynda, get off the man's belly, you're not seven anymore, you know!" The new voice was forceful but well controlled, and it came from behind me. When I tried to look up, it was against the light, and I could only see a blurry slim silhouette with a big sun hat.

"OK, Mom," said Lynda and slid off me, and immediately took off like a small golden-haired rocket towards the water, followed by her older sister.

"Mom" moved out from the light, saying "You must excuse my daughters, they are really quite uncontrollable in the holidays. Well, anytime, actually."

She had brown eyes, blonde shoulder-length hair, and white denim shorts. She also had a towel over her shoulders, and a large beach-bag. She put her bag down and said "Do you mind if I camp here?"

"Of course not," I said. "That would be nice. And don't worry about your daughters. One should only really worry when they get really quiet."

She laughed. "Well, then I have nothing to worry about!" She took a bigger towel from the bag and spread it on the sand. She took the smaller towel off her shoulders. That's when I saw she wasn't wearing a top. Then she took off her shorts. She wasn't wearing a bottom either.

She saw me looking. "Oh, I hope you don't mind me being nude. We are used to that, and in later years it is often seen on the beach, so I do that here also."

"Dear no, don't worry. Not if you don't mind me looking. You look really nice. Are you sure those are your kids?"

She laughed again. "Oh, yeah, I remember having them!

"I am pretty proud of my body." And then she actually stepped a couple of steps towards the water, held her arms stretched high, and turned around slowly, displaying her beauty to the world.

I sat up. This was excellent.

She laughed. "You're paying attention. Most people pretend they are not looking. I don't understand that." She came and sat down on her towel.

"No, it is odd."

We talked a bit about this and that and all kinds of stuff. Suddenly the younger daughter came bulleting out of the water, waving her wet bathing suit like a flag from her hand. "Mom, Prissy put sand in my suit!" She threw herself wet on her mother, her suit spraying water to all sides. Her sister came after her, also with her suit in her hand. "She put sand in mine first!"

The older sister was pretty womanly, and it was clear that the whole family had good genes. She saw me looking, and she stopped and just stood there openly, looking at me with a slight smile. That was not easy handling with my oldfashioned upbringing (the stuff sticks), but I think I managed to give her an open and kind smile. She dropped her bathing suit on the bag and said to me: "Aren't you coming swimming?"

The mother said "Yes aren't you? Let's all go swimming!"

How could I refuse? It turned out to be more splashing and wild games than swimming, and I was a bit exhausted when I dragged myself to land while the little one continued to terrorize the whole beach, but it was fun.

In the evening I treated my new friends to a hot meal at a beach restaurant. It turned out that they were also all bright and fun to talk with. Yes sir, good times.

Eolake

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